Don't Dream It's Over (OUAT femslash one-shot collection)
by uisceB
Summary: Collection of OUAT femslash (mostly smutty, sometimes fluffy) one-shots. Pairings will pretty much stick to my favorites, so: Swan Queen, Frozen Swan, Red Swan, Dragon Queen, Sea Devil, Ingrid/Emma, and Frozen Wolf, though there could be others. (Full summary inside).
1. Black and White and Red All Over

_Collection of OUAT femslash (mostly smutty, sometimes fluffy) one-shots. Pairings will pretty much stick to my favorites, so:_ _ **Swan Queen, Frozen Swan, Red Swan, Dragon Queen, Sea Devil, Ingrid/Emma, and Frozen Wolf**_ _(is that what you'd call Elsa/Ruby?- I know it's not a real thing, but I've decided to make it one, because I can). I have at least 6 fics planned out that I'll do for sure, but I'm hoping to do many more as well, and am certainly willing to take prompts or suggestions into account if anyone's got 'em. I can't guarantee I'll be able to fulfill ALL your prompty desires, but if you happen to have an idea raging in your mind…or in your pants…do let me know in the reviews/comments, and I'll try to work it in here at some point. All of the ships I have listed above will be showing up multiple times in this, probably staggered randomly throughout, some canon-friendly, some AU, all of the above. Also, just to challenge myself, I'm going to try,_ _ **try,**_ _to update every other day, at least for the first 6 fics I have planned out. We'll see how that goes._

 _Alright kids, first up is_ _ **Sea Devil**_ _(Ursula/Cruella) in a_ _ **modern-ish our-world crime-spree AU, no magic.**_ _This will actually be my most tame one, the rest will be pretty smut-happy, but this one I'd probably peg at no higher than a_ _ **T rating.**_

 _Thanks all, and as always, if you've got a review, suggestion, polite complaint, etc, I'm happy to hear it. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Black and White and Red All Over**

Ursula had long resigned herself to the fact that Cruella tended to leave a trail of bodies in her wake wherever they went; it was when the other woman abjectly refused to clean up after herself that Ursula got a little irritated.

"Cru," she said, nodding at the detached and bloodied left hand of the now-deceased bartender nestled between the 12, 20, and 60-year-old bottles of Jameson. The hand had flown six feet up into the air and then landed there after Cruella had shot it off the man when she found out he didn't carry her particular brand of gin.

Cruella blinked at her innocently. "Yes dahling?" she asked.

Urusla pursed her lips and nodded at the detached hand again. "You can't just leave that there."

Cruella scowled, looking almost like she might stomp her foot in frustration. "I got rid of the rest of him," she whined.

Which was true. She had. Ursula had nursed a bottle of Pilsner while watching the petite woman struggle to drag the easily double-her-weight dead bartender through the back door and out into the alley way behind the bar. She didn't have the strength to lift him up and stuff him into the dumpster, and Ursula refused to help clean up a mess that wasn't her own on principle (how _else_ was Cru going to learn to take responsibility for her own actions?), so finally Cruella had just settled for tipping the dumpster over on top of the body.

She was nothing if not resourceful.

But she _had_ forgotten about the hand. For someone so upper-class, she could be quite the slob sometimes.

"If you leave that there, someone's bound to notice it," Ursula pointed out. "Your husband's already got all of New York on the look-out for you, you want all of Chicago too?"

Cruella's scowl deepened.

Ursula nodded at the scowl. "Then clean it up, Cru." She glanced around. "Based on how deserted this place was, my guess is no one comes through here often. If we get out of here without leaving any evidence behind, we might get as much as a three day head-start before anyone even realizes he's dead. But you leave that hand there, _someone_ will notice, and you and I are going to end up with a car chase on our hands. _Again_."

Cruella's scowl immediately twisted into a simpering smile. "Well I rather thought that was the fun of it all, dahling," she purred.

"Not when _you_ drive."

To say that Cruella drove like a maniac was to say that rain was kind of wet, or that the sea was a little bit big; "maniac" didn't even come _close_ to describing Cruella at the wheel of her husband's black and white Cadillac, or any of the cars they'd stolen since they'd had to ditch that one to avoid being recognized on this cross-country escapade of theirs. The idea that Cru was actually starting to _enjoy_ the high-speed car chases through narrow, twisting city streets and flat open highways was enough to make Ursula a little nauseous.

It was a damn good thing she _liked_ Cruella so much- Ursula had always been a hustler, an understated mover and shaker in all regards, and happily toed the line of what was strictly legal _,_ so long as it was handled discreetly, and cleanly- but she wouldn't be an accessory to murder and countless out-and-out robberies for just _anyone_.

 _That_ shit she'd only do for Cru.

Anyone else who had off-handedly suggested to her one afternoon "Let's poison my husband and run away out West together, we can rob jewelry stores and banks along the way to make our fortune" Ursula would have walked away from, or slapped in the face.

But Cru was a different matter altogether.

They'd met some years back at this awful, tedious gala put on by Cruella's husband's company. Ursula had been very much on the down-and-out at the time- that happened periodically given her inconsistent line of work, and while she always bounced back, it was still a definite blow to her pride to have to take up such a bow-and-scrape gig as a caterer. She didn't _do_ serving others, she didn't _like_ it. She was better than that shit, and she knew it. Sometimes she really hated this city.

Still, she'd made the most of it when, in between the hors d'oeuvres and the speeches, she'd pimped out the dull-witted but admittedly attractive one-armed server Killian Hook to that new-money tycoon everyone referred to as Mr. Charming after only a half hour at the gala, earning herself a quick, easy, and unexpected hundred and fifty dollars, cash. (She couldn't in good conscience charge Mr. Charming any more than that, as Killian Hook wasn't an _actual_ prostitute and who knew if he _actually_ had the clean bill of health he claimed, or was even any good at what he did).

Feeling flush with the satisfaction of a job well hustled, Ursula had retired to the kitchens for a quick break, relieved to find them empty. Galas _could_ be fun- Ursula had been to many in her lifetime, sometimes working them, sometimes as arm candy or even a legitimate guest. But this one was absolute dullsville, and completely _crawling_ with slimeballs. Rich, entitled slimeballs, which somehow just made them worse. And that bullshit elevator music they were playing…

She'd wrinkled her nose at the thought, bringing out a pack of cigarettes, trying to figure if she'd be able to get away with a quick smoke without setting off the fire alarm, when she heard a low, very _British_ -sounding drawl of "Oh thank _god_ ," behind her.

Ursula prided herself on being fairly cool and collected, but there was just no way to contain the way she nearly jumped out of her own skin in surprise, wheeling around and grabbing a frying pan off the counter, brandishing it over her head.

"Goodness, dahling, I'm sorry I didn't mean to frighten you," came the British voice again, and out of the shadows walked a woman.

It was a wonder Ursula hadn't noticed her before. There was nothing about her that could be considered even remotely subtle; the left side of her hair was jet black, the right side bone white, her face was made up with bold black lines at her eyes and bright red at the mouth, and over her very thin frame, sliding off one shoulder, she wore a heavy black and white fur coat lined with red on the inside.

 _Black and white and red all over_ , Ursula's mind stupidly supplied as she blinked at the other woman.

"You're not going to butcher me with that thing, are you?" the woman asked her, glancing with one raised eyebrow at the frying pan. "I promise I mean no harm, I was only hoping to bum a cigarette if you'd be so kind."

Ursula shook herself out of her shocked stupor, and tore her eyes away from the hypnotizing pattern of black-and-white all over the woman so that she could put down the frying pan and coolly hand her a cigarette, lighting it for her.

The woman held eye contact with her the entire time, finally pulling back once it lit, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. Only then did she close her eyes, looking to be lost in a brief moment of ecstasy.

"You're an absolute angel, dahling," she said at last, eyes re-opening and fixing on Ursula.

"Ursula," Ursula corrected. "And you're Mrs. De Vil. I recognize you from that T.V. spot you did. Biggest collection of furs on the East Coast."

The woman gave her a tight smile. "Let's just go with Cruella, shall we?" she said. "I do detest the term _'missus.'_ Speaking of, might I ask that you not mention this to my husband?" she requested, taking a quick drag from the cigarette. "I'm meant to have quit ages ago."

Ursula found herself smiling a little. "Your secret's safe with me," she said.

"Angel," Cruella purred again, giving a grin of her own. "He puts up such a stink when I smoke, even though it's all his fault I even took it up in the first place."

"Well that doesn't seem fair," Ursula offered politely.

"That's what _I_ always think," Cruella seconded with a flourish of her hand. "I mean I only took it up after someone told me that second-hand smoke kills, and I was hoping for a nice easy way out of the marriage. But then I thought about it and reasoned it's likely first-hand smoke kills a bit faster than second-hand smoke and that by smoking at all I was probably killing _myself_ faster than I was killing _him._ But by the time I realized that, seems addiction had rather gotten the best of me and I've had a hell of a time giving it up."

Ursula almost laughed- Cruella seemed like the type who might have a dry sense of humor and say something like that just for the laughs. But there was something so off-hand about it that Ursula was suddenly pretty sure Cruella was being completely serious.

"You're saying…" she said. "…You took up smoking in order to kill your husband…via the means of second-hand smoke?" she asked carefully.

"I'm not claiming it as one of my more intelligent ideas," Cruella said airily. "But I was feeling lazy and just a tad nihilistic, and I needed _some_ way of getting rid of him."

Ursula wasn't sure why her own mouth was smiling a little at that, that was awful. "You could try divorce?" she suggested, trying to make that smile go away.

Cruella actually sighed, leaning in confidentially again. "This is embarrassing," she said, "and I hate to be one of _those_ women, but I've never actually worked a day in my life. I'm afraid I'm rather in need of having a man to leech off of or I won't last long at all. No, the only way I can survive without him is if I can get my hands on the entirety of his fortune, and for that, I'm afraid I need him dead. The whole thing's just…messy."

Cruella straightened up again, away from her, and looked her closely in the eye. "Now you think I'm a terrible person, don't you," she inferred. She took a drag. "It's alright, I truly _am_ a terrible person, you're right to think it. Thanks for this, anyway. Suppose I'll go back out to that _ghastly_ party and see if I can't convince those morons out there to strike up an actual _tune_ to dance to. If nothing else, maybe my husband will die of a heart attack."

She dropped the cigarette onto the floor, tapping it delicately with the toe of one high-heeled foot to put it out, and turned to leave.

"You like dancing?" Ursula blurted out before she could reach the door.

Cruella halted, glancing back at her, giving a sly but affirmative tilt of her head.

"I used to sing," Ursula told her, "at this jazz bar across town. The lighting's crap, but the music's incredible and so's the dancing if you wanted to ditch this shit show and go with me?"

The slow smile that crept across Cruella's face stated very clearly that she did.

They danced for hours at the bar, and near closing time when the band was getting ready to pack up and head home, Cruella demanded they play just a few more, and that they let Ursula sing. Ursula protested of course, but one of the musicians- a lanky red-headed man by the name of Jimminy who was scrawny and pale as they came but played the hell out of the fiddle- recognized her from years ago when they'd played a couple gigs together and insisted she join them. She managed to carry them through three encores, feeling something warm in her chest swell as Cruella gazed up at her with open admiration as she sang, mouthing along with "You Belong to Me" when someone requested a jazzed-up version of an old classic. For some reason, Ursula wasn't even surprised when, after the end of the final encore, Cruella jumped up on stage with her and pressed in close, smelling like gin, sweat, smoke, and something a little spicier like jasmine, and kissed her deeply on the lips.

"Absolute angel," she whispered into Ursula's ear after she pulled away, and Ursula tightened her grip on her waist.

They certainly didn't _mean_ to become anything like a couple, but they fell into it anyway after that, over love of music, over a constant play at pushing the rules until they cracked, over a shared desire for absolute freedom. And yes, Cruella _was_ a really terrible person like she said, but in fairness, Ursula was no angel either, though Cruella did continue to murmur that she was sometimes during lazy moments of sweetness.

And Cruella _loved_ listening to Ursula sing, especially "You Belong to Me." It was one of those few times that Ursula could see a little sliver of what Cru had probably looked like as a child, eyes suddenly wide with wonder, enraptured. She wasn't sure she'd call what they had _love_ , but it was a good time anyway and there was no happiness quite like the happiness Ursula felt when the two of them were together. She got the feeling Cruella felt the same way- if for no other reason than that Cru generally hated most people as a rule, but her whole face seemed to light up every time Ursula came around, and she had a tendency to touch her, just casually, for no reason at all.

And admittedly, Cruella could be a bit of a pillow queen, there was no denying that. But then she'd occasionally turn around and get into these moods where she'd absolutely _lavish_ Ursula with attention and demand to know her absolute filthiest desires so she could fulfill them for her. And then she'd actually go about fulfilling them. Which, all in all, made it all worth it.

After a time though, it must have started to become obvious to Cruella's husband that she spent more time with Ursula than she did him. Ursula never knew what exactly was said between them, or if something was done, but one afternoon Cruella met her at a bar and suggested they poison him and move out West together, maybe have some adventures along the way.

Ursula hesitated. She had never killed anyone herself before, though she did know a guy who knew a guy, and she'd certainly set some people up to _"meet"_ that guy, for a price of course. She searched Cru's face, because it was one thing to absently hope your second-hand cigarette smoke killed your husband, or that he died of a heart attack, or that he tripped down the stairs and broke his neck- it was quite another to suggest taking a more active role in murdering him.

But for once, Cruella actually looked very serious, and even a little ruffled, like maybe something might have happened between the two of them. Ursula knew better by now than to ever ask into it- if Cruella wanted to say something, she'd say it on _her_ terms, not before.

Ursula tilted her head carefully and said, "I'm not big on murder, Cru, not unless someone's done something to me personally."

She waited to see if Cruella might offer any further information, anything that might prompt her to want to kill that stupid bastard. If Cruella's husband had _hurt_ her in some way for instance, Ursula thought she might feel compelled to murder him. But Cruella just looked back at her, expression looking a little disappointed, but not saying a word.

So Ursula continued. "If you've got your heart set on killing him though, I won't stop you, and I'd happily move out West with you. I hate this stupid city, and I hate these stupid people, and I'm sick of working for dipshits lower than me. So if you leave, I'll come with you, and you and I can find a new place to dance. Where it's warm and people aren't shit."

Cruella's face lit up again and she leaned across the table, wrapping a hand around the back of Ursula's neck and pulling her in to press a heady, gin-tinged kiss to her lips.

"Meet me at the jazz bar at midnight tonight," she said once she'd pulled back. "We'll leave then."

And Cruella _did_ succeed in poisoning her husband. And she _did_ succeed in making off with almost his entire fortune and numerous priceless items from around the manor, not to mention his prized black and white Cadillac. And she _did_ succeed in getting to the jazz bar at midnight exactly, opening the passenger side door so Ursula could slip in and the two of them could slip away.

What she failed to do properly, however, was actually kill him. And it was because she, as Ursula had noticed of most people who considered themselves high class, was sloppy. So while she did manage to poison the hell out of him, he still woke in the hospital 26 hours later, parched, weak, half-blind, and crippled, and he knew exactly who was to blame.

Thus did Ursula and Cruella's leisurely drive West turn into a more frantic fleeing type of thing, complete with 18 pedestrian hit-and-runs, six of whom were in critical condition, one of whom had died, the rest of whom would probably be alright after a lengthy recovery period; eight robberies, six of which were jewelry shops, two of which were convenience stores; countless car chases, and a full-on shoot-out with police in pursuit. There were also several counts of casual murder, which Cruella got better at once she started using a gun instead of poison.

Ursula hated to admit this, but it was the most fun she'd had in her entire life. She wished Cru would let her drive of course, just in the interest of self-preservation, but there was no getting around the fact that she felt freer than she'd ever imagined possible. And sure, there was the body count to contend with, and the string of crimes that was positioning itself to make Bonnie and Clyde look like a couple of pussies. But Cruella had made her decision, and Ursula had made hers, and somehow they were on this road to hell together and neither one of them was particularly interested in looking back.

Still, Ursula was not in any kind of a hurry to actually get caught, which is why, when Cruella continued to stubbornly refuse to pick up the bloodied, dismembered left hand of the bartender in Chicago, Ursula just as stubbornly insisted she clean that shit up.

 _"Please_ won't you pick it up for me?" Cruella whined at her. "I already moved the rest of the body, _and_ I wiped off the floors and the counter- I just finished washing my hands, I don't want to get them all dirty again… _please?"_

But Ursula was resolute. She was _very_ fond of Cruella, but she was no push-over. "You pulled the trigger, you deal with the consequences," she said firmly. "Though feel free to grab me another Pilsner before you do."

Cruella wasn't finished bargaining though. She took a step closer to Ursula. "Next jewelry place we stop at," she said, "I'll give you whatever you want from it, whatever I can get my hands on. Just pick up that hand for me Ursula dahling, please? It's cold by now, gives me the willies."

"That's your problem isn't it. And you know I don't wear jewelry."

"Bullshit. I saw you eyeing that necklace made with the seashell inside bits."

"Abalone."

"Ha!" Cru barked triumphantly. "I knew it."

Ursula scowled. "The answer's still no."

Cruella mirrored her scowl, then stalked past her to the jukebox in the corner. Ursula followed her movements with just her eyes, pretty sure she knew what was coming next. She smirked when "You Belong to Me" predictably began to play, and Cruella swayed toward her.

Well subtlety had never been Cru's strong point.

"You can sway till your legs give out under you, the answer's still no," Ursula told her, but Cruella reached out her hand and closed it around Ursula's, pulling her to the center of the room, forcing her to sway back and forth with her. Cru's hands slipped up to drape over Ursula's shoulders and Ursula's attention was drawn to a thin splash of dried blood- from the bartender, obviously- marring the base of Cru's throat. For the life of her, Ursula couldn't decide whether that was the grossest thing she'd ever seen, or if it was just a little bit sexy.

Regardless, it did nothing to distract her and she said, "This is all time you could be spending cleaning up that hand."

"Oh hush," Cruella responded with a grin. "You and I haven't danced since we got on the road. That's all this is."

"Not a poorly-disguised attempt at distracting me from that hand?"

"No of course not, what do you take me for."

Ursula leaned in, nosing at one of the blood diamonds dangling from Cruella's earlobe, mostly so the other woman wouldn't see her grin.

"One song," she said. "We'll dance to this one song, and then you're gonna pick you're shit up. Then we should get back on the road. I want to be able to get to Jefferson by tomorrow afternoon, there's a bank I'd like to rob."

Cruella pulled back a little to look at her in surprise. "A whole bank?" she asked. "I must really be rubbing off on you."

"You're definitely rubbing something."

Cruella grinned at her, twisting a finger idly in her hair.

"No, it's just, we can't exactly use stolen jewelry for currency, Cru. And ever since we lost half your husband's fortune in that one chase down Lafayette…"

"I got the cases mixed up, I know," Cruella lamented with a hint of actual shame. "I thought I was hurling the typewriter at that cruiser, not our money."

"It's alright. But we need cash. Soon. And I know a guy in Jefferson. Or a guy who knows a guy anyway."

"You and your connections, that's lovely," Cruella crooned, leaning in to kiss her.

"Hang on, you hear that?" Ursula asked, jerking away.

Cruella craned her head, listening. "What?" she asked.

"The sound of silence. Means the song's over. Now go pick that hand up so we can get out of here."

She swatted Cruella's ass, pushing her toward the counter, and Cruella walked over obediently with a dramatic sigh.

She did pause however- they both did- at the sound of not _silence_ , but _sirens_ , and a megaphoned announcement that there was a horde of police men outside who "had the place surrounded" and that Ursula and Cruella were both to "come out with their hands above their heads."

Cruella shot a glance over at Ursula, mostly just looking relieved that something else had gotten in the way of her having to touch the dismembered hand again.

"Do you think they've _really_ got the place surrounded?" she asked quietly.

A _bang_ at the back door pretty much confirmed they did.

Ursula felt the muscles in her legs tighten. She was more or less ready to surrender, knowing she'd probably end up slapped with 15 to 20 years, though possibly less, as she knew a girl who knew a girl. Cruella was probably looking at life, however, and Ursula could tell, she could just _tell_ that Cru was the type who was prepared to gleefully die in a hail of gunfire rather than give up her freedom.

Well, Ursula wasn't going anywhere without Cru so that pretty much settled that.

"I think I saw a window out the top of the women's bathroom," she said.

"Big enough for both of us?" Cruella asked.

"Big enough for you, easy. We'll see about me."

For a moment, actual concern seemed to flicker across Cru's features. Then she strode across the floor in front of Ursula and pulled her into a brief but searing kiss.

"If we get out of this alive, I'll buy you all the abalone necklaces you could ever dream of," Cruella promised.

"And if you escape and I get caught?"

"Then I'll send them to you in prison from my magnificent mansion in Tulum- I've decided it might be safest to leave the country at this point."

 _"I repeat, come out with your hands above your heads!"_ came the megaphoned order from outside.

Ursula nodded. "Sounds like a plan," she said. "If I get to the car first, I get to drive," she added.

"Over my dead mangled body, dahling," Cruella told her, and began sprinting for the lady's room.

Running in high heels and a giant fur coat made her look ridiculous, Ursula thought. With a grin, she took off after her for one last shot at freedom as the first gunshots fired through the bar.

* * *

 _I have no idea, I just really wanted Ursula and Cruella to go on a cross-country crime-spree together. Let me know what you think!_

 _Next up…either Swan Queen or Frozen Swan, it'll just depend on which one I finish first. See you then..._


	2. Snap

**Snap** (Emma/Regina)

 _Summary: It's Regina's…er…"29th" birthday, and Emma makes the mistake of promising to do everything Regina tells her to do. Smut and humor. Rating: M lite._

* * *

"I kind of thought…" Emma grunted, "…that when I said I'd do anything you wanted on your birthday…" she grunted again, "…it was going to be in the more…" another grunt, "...sexy way."

She gave a final upward heave to the near hundred-pound steel bar she was lifting, and sent it notching into place on the roof of Regina's giant and soon-to-be _very_ well-fortified new greenhouse.

The bar teetered for a moment, and Emma snapped her hands up to catch it in case it decided to be an asshole and roll off…but at last it settled, with a loud series of rattling _clangs._

Sighing in relief and wiping her arm across her forehead to clear it of sweat, she turned around to look at Regina, who was being really fucking super helpful by lounging back on a lawn chair and watching her while sipping some kind of apple-infused cocktail. At 10 in the morning.

(She was also wearing this skimpy black bikini that Emma thought was just woefully inconsiderate of her feelings).

Regina finished off the last sip of her cocktail, carelessly magicking herself up a re-fill, and shrugged. "Your unrealistic expectations aren't _my_ fault," she drawled, "and I've been wanting this greenhouse finished for weeks. _You_ should have been more specific with your wording." She waved her hand dismissively. "Now don't you have one more side to finish?"

Emma dropped her head back with a groan and dragged her feet over to the near end of the greenhouse where there waited for her, yet another fucking metal bar.

She glanced at Regina over her shoulder. "Can't I use magic to lift it?" she pleaded. "Just on this one last one?"

"Absolutely not."

 _"Why?"_ Emma whined.

"Because the last time you tried heavy-lifting with your magic you almost smashed my car. And besides…" She tilted her head and gave Emma a very long, appraising once-over. "…it's fun to watch you sweat."

Jesus.

"Okay but like, there are _other_ things we could be doing where I sweat too, y'know?" Emma said. She tried to wink, but she was tired enough and the sun was glaring in her eyes enough that she was pretty sure she just blinked exaggeratedly, missing sexy by _just a little_.

Regina pursed her lips, which Emma had come to learn usually meant she was trying not to laugh or smile.

"Did I say 'sweat'?" the former Evil Queen mused disinterestedly. "I meant 'suffer.' 'It's fun to watch you _suffer_.'"

So maybe not _former_ Evil Queen after all. Still fucking evil.

"Go on, Miss Swan, I've got your mindless obedience for the whole day, you promised. Put some of that youthful strength to good use."

"Yeah, you _need_ youthful strength," Emma muttered, beginning to hoist the metal bar up and knowing she was going to feel that in her lower back tomorrow. "How old are you turning, by the way, like a hundred?"

"Twenty-nine," Regina answered smoothly, curling her tongue around the straw of her drink.

Emma snorted. "Yeah right, plus like ten," she said, beginning to inch the the bar up a little with a wince. She paused. "Plus…another twenty-eight from the curse I guess, plus…"

"Miss Swan, continue to spout numbers at me and I will be sure you live a very long, miserable, and sexless existence," Regina warned.

"Right. Twenty-nine it is," Emma said quickly.

She grunted again as she angled the bar upwards, waiting till she heard a metallic _click_ that meant it was lined up properly before beginning to slide it up, arms shaking.

Emma thought these bars were kind of overkill. Like, this was a _greenhouse_. But then again, there did seem to be a massive influx of wild and destructive fairytale creatures showing up on their doorsteps lately, coming from random portals popping up all over town, and Regina was tired of fearing for the safety of her apple tree. She'd harvested seeds from it, and various other favorite plants of hers, and started a nursery within the framework of a greenhouse she'd commissioned Marco to build. In order to protect it from destruction by magic, she'd summoned up a force-field around it, only to have it nearly completely leveled by Henry and David whose sparring match with a couple of wooden swords got way out of hand.

So Regina's next step- after confiscating Henry's sword and hurling a fireball at David- was steel reinforcements.

Regina's care for her plants would have been endearing if every muscle in Emma's body wasn't about to give out.

"You know sometimes…" Emma huffed, pushing the bar steadily upwards, "I think it'd be nice…if you'd show _me_ half as much affection…as you show that…apple tree of yours."

The bar finally rattled and clicked into place, and Emma dropped her arms in exhaustion, too relieved to do anything but stand rooted to the spot, looking at it.

"I don't know what you're talking about, I'm _very_ affectionate towards you," Regina said.

Emma glanced back at her doubtfully. _"Really_ ," she said. "When's the last time you said something nice to me?"

"Just five minutes ago I said I enjoyed watching you sweat."

"That was meant to be a _compliment?"_ Emma scoffed. "And let's not forget, you then changed that to saying you enjoyed watching me _suffer_."

"Two compliments in a row then, I'd think you would be ecstatic."

Emma rolled her eyes and gestured toward what was now a somewhat ridiculous monstrosity of a greenhouse. "Am I at least done with this?" she asked.

Regina stood to her feet and sauntered over and Emma was pretty sure she was making something of a show of how much her hips swayed. Whatever. Emma was totally immune to that. She was only staring because she was too tired _not_ to stare. Obviously.

Regina finally stood side by side with her, sipping what was left of her drink as she surveyed Emma's work. A light breeze rustled through her hair and Emma was very nearly bowled over by the sweet scent of her shampoo. Emma wanted to bury her nose in that scent, bury her nose in Regina's hair and just…

"It's kind of ugly now, isn't it," Regina commented and Emma was rudely snapped out of her thoughts.

She looked back at the greenhouse Regina was studying with critically narrowed eyes.

"I mean it's…a little bulky," Emma conceded cautiously.

Regina looked thoughtful. "Maybe steel reinforcements were a bad idea…" she mused. "Yes, I think we'll actually have to get rid of those after all."

Emma stared at her. She kind of no longer wanted to bury her nose in Regina's hair. Now she mostly just wanted to collapse onto the ground and die.

Regina turned to her and smirked when she saw Emma's face.

"Relax, dear, I'm not going to make _you_ get rid of them," she assured her. "I have far too many other things for you to do today. Now," she lifted Emma's hand and placed her empty glass in it, "do me a favor and take this inside…" She took a small step into Emma, bringing them close enough that their noses nearly touched. Emma automatically began leaning in to kiss her, but Regina jerked away and dipped her head to Emma's neck, licking away a bead of sweat.

"…And take a shower," she advised, pulling away. "I want you clean for what comes next."

Emma made sure the heat coiling low in her belly hadn't turned her legs completely to jelly before she tried using them. Finding them pretty well-functioning, she headed back toward the mansion, grinning to herself when she was sure she was far enough away that Regina wouldn't be able to see it, because _that_ had sounded promising.

* * *

"You're fucking kidding me," Emma exclaimed when Regina told her what she would be doing next.

"Yes, I'm well-known for how often I _kid_ ," Regina dead-panned. "No, Miss Swan, I'm afraid I'm being completely serious. Assume the position, please."

 _"This_ is what you needed me clean for?" Emma demanded incredulously.

"Well I certainly wasn't about to have all your dirt and sweat sink into the linoleum. Besides, you were starting to smell."

"But…" Emma protested. "This isn't even a thing. This is just you being…awful."

Regina raised a careless eyebrow. "I have a lot of reading I need to do if I'm going to be able to figure out what keeps causing these portals to open all over the place," she said, "and my ottoman collapsed last week. You're not seriously suggesting I sit in this chair and read _without a foot rest?_ On my _birthday?"_

"Regina, I am not going to get down on all fours and be a human foot stool for you," Emma said firmly. "That's like… _beyond_ degrading. And my arms and back are already pretty much beat, this is just cruel."

"Miss Swan," Regina said patiently, "when you said you would do anything I told you to on my birthday, you made the assumption that it would be sex-related, did you not?"

"…Yeah…"

"So then you must have entertained the possibility that you would end up down on all fours at _some_ point," Regina went on.

"…I guess…"

"Well then this should be quite enjoyable for you."

"Getting down on all fours so _you_ can prop your feet up on me and read and _ignore me_ for hours on end is _not_ what I had in mind!" Emma snapped.

Regina glanced away into the distance, looking wistful. "And here I thought I'd finally found someone who actually _wanted_ to celebrate my birthday with me…" she sighed.

"Emotional blackmail is a really low blow, Regina," Emma said.

Regina turned big, dark, sorrowful puppy eyes on her.

Emma flinched.

"Okay _fine_ ," she gave in finally, rolling her eyes as she dropped down onto her hands and knees, positioning herself in front of Regina's giant comfy armchair. "Half hour though, that's it."

Regina smirked and reached down to pat her cheek patronizingly. "That's a good girl," she purred, circling around and settling herself in the chair before lifting her legs and crossing them at the ankles on Emma's shoulders.

* * *

Fortunately for Emma, not more than 10 minutes into her stint as a human piece of furniture, the ground shook and the familiar sound of screaming Storybrooke citizens reached their ears.

Emma glanced back at Regina, who rolled her eyes.

"Alright, Savior, I suppose duty calls," she drawled, lifting her feet off of Emma and allowing her to crawl free.

 _Thank god_ , Emma thought as she got to her feet, extending a hand to help Regina up out of the chair.

"Your car or mine?" she asked.

"Yours, definitely," Regina said, beginning to lead the way out to the driveway. "I just got mine back from the shop, the last thing I need is for it to get trampled by stampeding unicorns like last time."

By the time they sorted out the mess in town and got back to the mansion, Emma was starting to feel a little cranky.

"I need you to clean the leaves out of the gutters," Regina told her, tossing her purse onto the counter. "And when you're done with that, I'll show you some places in the yard that need weeding…"

"Regina…" Emma interrupted breathlessly, "I was just almost carried off into oblivion by a giant…mutant…lion…bird thing. Do you think I could have a second to catch my breath before you throw me back into slave mode again?"

Regina turned to her, looking her over carefully. She sidled forward, sliding her hand up to caress Emma's cheek.

"Oh Emma," she murmured, nails digging lightly into her jaw. "Of _course_ not. I said I like to watch you _suffer_." She let her nails scratch into her chin just a little, making Emma flinch. "Now go on. Hop to it, little Swan."

Emma was starting to regret this whole arrangement.

* * *

She regretted it less when Regina started hovering behind her as she cleaned out the gutters, running her fingers down her back and absently toying with the strands of hair that had escaped Emma's ponytail as she assessed Emma's work.

"Nice job, Miss Swan," the former Evil Queen remarked, looking up at the roof, and sipping from yet another cocktail. "The place hasn't looked this good in years."

Emma grunted, glancing back at her quickly over her shoulder before dragging what she hoped were nearing the last of the leaves out with the rake.

"Was that an actual compliment?" she asked, disbelievingly. "Or am I just starting to become delusional with exhaustion at this point?"

"Both probably," Regina said with a hum, scratching her fingers soothingly at the nape of Emma's neck. She pressed a feather-light kiss to Emma's ear. "You just looked so put out when I told you you couldn't have a break, I thought I should come out here and remind you, I have no intention of letting all this hard work of yours go unrewarded."

Emma's breath hitched as Regina's lips ghosted lower on her neck, brushing against the skin teasingly.

"Yeah, see that… _sounds_ promising," Emma managed to breathe out, "but given how this day's gone so far, I'm not totally sure I trust that what _you_ consider a reward, is _actually_ a reward."

It was hard to continue arguing though when Regina's free hand- the one that wasn't still holding onto that fucking cocktail glass- slipped around her waist and Regina started kissing her way down the side of her neck.

Emma let out a small, appreciative moan, and turned her head to try and catch Regina's lips with her own. She sighed when Regina lifted her head to meet her, soft tongue flicking out to tease at the corner of Emma's mouth.

This, of course, was the moment the ground shook again, and another series of piercing shrieks from down the street split through the air.

Emma dropped her head back in exasperation.

"I hate this fucking town," she groaned.

* * *

When they returned to the mansion this time, Emma had just about had it.

"So you still have the weeding to do," Regina listed off airily, "and afterwards I'll want you in the kitchen to start on dinner- obviously I still don't trust you with the stove, but you can start chopping up vegetables-"

"Regina," Emma interrupted.

"-and while dinner's cooking I want you to check something in my car," Regina went on, ignoring her. "Ever since I got it back from the shop it's been making this awful grinding noise and I want you to see if you can figure out what that is-"

"Regina!" Emma said, louder this time.

"-and after that, you know what? I think I actually _will_ have you start taking those ugly steel reinforcements down, may as well-"

"Oh my god, _Regina!"_ Emma shouted. She took hold of either side of Regina's hips and pushed her back against the table, holding her still so she'd stop talking and actually listen to her.

"I've just spent the last several hours lifting up pieces of fucking _steel_ , being a human fucking piece of _furniture_ , almost getting killed by…whatever the fuck that crazy lion-bird thing was, cleaning out the gutters of your roof, and most recently, fighting off a horde of _very_ angry pixies, and saving Archie's dog from falling into another portal," Emma said shortly. "I'm _exhausted_. I cannot _weed._ I cannot chop _vegetables_. I don't have a fucking _clue_ what could be making your car make weird noises. And I _will not_ be taking _down_ the pieces of steel I put _up_ just this morning."

She angled in and leaned her forehead against Regina's for a second, lowering her voice. "Also, I should probably mention, it's like 90 fucking degrees out there, and you look fucking amazing and you smell fucking incredible, and you are driving me completely up the fucking wall," she added. " And I want you to have the best fucking birthday possible, but I can think of about a hundred and fifty other ways I could be doing that, none of which have anything to do with yard work."

Regina squirmed a little under her and it took Emma a moment to realize it was because she was shifting back to sit up on the table top, parting her legs and then reaching down into Emma's pocket.

Emma's breath hitched, but Regina was just pulling out her phone, looking down at the time display on the screen once she had it out.

"Nine hours, and forty-two minutes," Regina told her with a smirk.

Emma blinked at her. "…What?"

"Nine hours and forty-two minutes," Regina repeated. She dropped the phone to the side, lifting her arms up to drape loosely over Emma's shoulders. "That's how long it took for you to finally snap."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Regina wrapped her legs around Emma's waist, using them to pull her in against her and lifted a hand up to tuck loose strands of hair back behind Emma's ear. "You're always so noble," she said, "and hard-working, and you never say no. To _anyone_ , least of all me. I thought it was about time someone broke you of that silly goody-two-shoes habit of yours. See, all I _really_ want from you for my birthday, is for you to just… _let loose_ , a little bit."

"…So...all that stuff about you liking to watch me suffer…?"

"…Was true," Regina admitted with another smirk. She skimmed her mouth across Emma's jaw. "But mostly just because you're incredibly sexy when you get frustrated."

Emma braced her hands on the table on either side of Regina's hips and leaned in, groaning when Regina tightened her legs around her waist, rocking their hips together.

"I've been pretty frustrated all day," she murmured lowly into Regina's ear, nipping down the side of her throat.

She heard Regina hiss and then chuckle, hands coming up to run her fingers through her hair. "I would imagine," she said, tugging a little. "And you know, I wouldn't blame you if you felt like you needed to take some of that frustration out on me. I've been pretty horrible to you after all."

Emma, quite suddenly less exhausted than she had been moments before, grabbed a hold of Regina's legs, yanking her in roughly and grinding into her, satisfied when the former Evil Queen gave a surprised moan.

"I don't think you know what you just signed up for," Emma growled, working one hand up Regina's skirt to where there was a distinct lack of underthings, and everything was hot and slick. "You forced me to be a human _foot stool_ for you, Regina."

Regina just laughed, voice dark and rich. "Better put me back in my place then, Miss Swan," she urged hissingly, and with a moan Emma set about doing just that.

* * *

 **A/N:** _I know, I'm late- I said I was gonna update every other day, and I've already failed miserably. Just…dishonor on me, dishonor on my cow…I'm sorry. I had been working on a different SwanQueen fic that was all set and ready to go up a few days ago, and then I read it over and realized I hated it, so I had to delete it and destroy all evidence of its existence and just…whatever. Still not sure I'm totally happy with this one, but it's better than the other one, and I felt guilty for leaving you hanging for so long, so I put it up to tide you over till next time. So anyway, sorry again for the lateness, thanks guys!_


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